


The Best he can do

by Drowned_Ophelia



Category: Pocket Monsters: Sun & Moon | Pokemon Sun & Moon Versions
Genre: Blood, Cutting, Gen, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 20:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11699670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drowned_Ophelia/pseuds/Drowned_Ophelia
Summary: Late one night Guzma gets up to use the bathroom. Not realizing it's occupied, he walks into a situation he never expected or wants to deal with.





	The Best he can do

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



It was so late. Guzma really didn’t want to get up, but he didn’t think he’d be able to wait until he usually awoke to use the restroom. It was his fault for having so much to drink before going to bed. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier as he sat up with a groan, letting his eyes adjust to the dark before finally dragging himself out of bed.

Clad in an undershirt, boxers, and slippers, his feet dragged as he trudged to the nearest bathroom. Shady House only had two that were usable, which often caused arguments if someone took too long. The only thing good about being up at a bit past 3 AM was that there was no chance of someone else being in there or a line.

The locks in this dilapidated mansion were unreliable, so it was a common courtesy everyone had developed to knock on the bathroom door before entering if they weren’t sure of its occupancy. Guzma was so sure this wasn’t needed he barged right in, failing to notice the faint beam of light peeking out from underneath.

The moment Guzma opened the door it was as if time stopped. He completely froze to see a female Grunt sitting on the floor in her nightgown. She stared at him completely still in shock, a razor blade held in her fingers.

Everyone here had problems. It didn’t matter if some individuals talked about it or not. If they were alright, they never would have wound up in Team Skull. If you were here, you had hit rock bottom and were desperate. It was an unspoken truth.

No one here would judge or pry, however. The sleeveless Skull Tanks left the wearer’s arms completely bare, so the lines of thin white scars that were on this Grunt’s arms were hard to miss when someone was up close to her.

It was when the blood that was slowly dripping from her recent cuts hit the floor in droplets that Guzma blinked and snapped back to reality. This was never something he’d ever imagined he’d have to deal with. He really didn’t want to. If he turned around walked out that door he’d never be able to forgive himself, but what the hell was he supposed to do now?

Guzma’s default was always to get angry and start yelling over most problems. That would be the worst thing he could do in this situation, the Grunt already visibly trembling over him of all people catching her.

Slowly and as non-threatening as a man his size could manage, Guzma crouched down to her level, holding out his hand. Just this gesture made her flinch. “Give me the razorblade,” he said, struggling to keep his voice low and what could maybe pass as gentle.

“I-it’s…” She struggled to speak, her voice wavering. “I-it’s bloody, B-Boss…”

“Give it to me,” he repeated a bit more firmly. This time she reached forward with a shaky hand and put it into his palm. He couldn’t stop looking at her arm now. The mixtures of the blood trails made it hard to tell, but it didn’t seem like she’d gotten in more than few cuts before he found her. They started higher up on her forearm, so at the very least, she didn’t seem to be intending to kill herself. “…So what do we do about…”

“It’s OK, Boss. It’s not a big deal.” Feeling relieved that Guzma hadn’t blown his stack and woken the whole mansion up bellowing at her, the Grunt relaxed and calmed down enough to get to her feet.

Guzma stood up with her and that’s when he noticed how prepared she was with some first aid items set out on the counter. She went about cleaning the wounds and taking care of herself like it was a task as simple and casual at brushing her teeth.

“…So what happened?” Guzma asked awkwardly, setting the razorblade down and away from her on the opposite side of the counter before subtly wiping the blood off his hand on a washrag that had been left behind. “If it’s somethin’ with another Grunt, Plumeria can talk with ‘em.” He was completely inept at these matters. The sooner he could pass this on to his Admin who had voluntarily appointed herself the “Big Sister” of these kids the better. He was only good at barking out orders.

“Nothing happened,” she answered without looking at him, continuing to take care of her self inflicted injuries.

“Then why?” Guzma asked, puzzled, his brow furrowing. “How often do you do this?”

“This is the first time since I’ve been here…” After finishing up she finally looked at him again. “I-I don’t know if you’ll know what I mean, but… Stuff that’s happened to me, the memories… They don’t just go away. Sometimes it gets real bad at night and… This time I couldn’t even sleep and this was all I could think about to help. Do you know what that’s like at all…?” she asked hopefully.

Guzma hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about the poor ways he dealt with upsetting things. Her route was one he’d never tried, but he had plenty of small scars fresh and faded from when he punched things out of anger. In fact, he’d sliced up his right hand pretty badly here in Shady House when he punched out a window and his forehead had recently healed up from smashing his face into the dirt after losing a Pokemon battle. For nighttime it was booze. Anything would do. He’d drink until he’d pass out if thoughts of his dad and past failures were getting too bad.

“…Yeah…” was all Guzma would admit. “Ya done?”

“I just have to clean up,” she answered.

“I’ll do that. C’mon,” he motioned for her to follow him.

“A-are you kicking me out?” she asked, back to being fearful again in an instant. “I’m sorry! I-”

“No! Do what I tell ya or I am gonna get mad.”

She nodded, timidly making her way out of the bathroom ahead of Guzma, he watching her every step to make sure she didn’t take anything with her. From there he guided her to Plumeria’s room, knocking her on door.

It took a moment for Plumeria to answer, she looking quite different with her hair down, no makeup on, and so tired that she looked like she’d suddenly aged about twenty years as she looked at Guzma with half lidded eyes. She was still so groggy that her vision was blurry, but there was no doubt who was standing in front of her. “Guzma… Do you have any idea what time it is?” she slurred.

“I need a favor,” Guzma moved aside so Plumeria could see the Grunt that was close behind him. “Let her sleep in your room tonight.” No way could he just take the Grunt back to the girls’ sleeping quarters and leave her be. She couldn’t be left alone.

Plumeria immediately became more alert upon realizing something serious had happened, noticing the Grunt’s bandaged arm. Knowing about her old scars and history, it clicked rather quickly what Guzma had caught her doing. “Come in,” she welcomed, standing back so the Grunt could enter her room.

“I-I don’t want to be any trouble…” the Grunt replied, feeling guilty about all the hassle she was causing her two superiors. Plumeria had always been nice, but she was still shocked over how Guzma was reacting.

“You’re not. We can stay up and talk a little.”

“Hurry it up and get in there,” Guzma finally snapped, making the Grunt jump and zip inside without anymore protest. “You got this?” he asked Plumeria.

Plumeria nodded. “I know this must have been hard for you. You did a really good thing, Guzma.” She wanted to make sure he knew that before shutting the door.

Guzma still wasn’t done. He’d lie about the reasoning later, but he visited both bathrooms to remove anything sharp and to clean up the blood that remained in the one he’d found the Grunt in. If this was going to be a possible issue the Grunts would have to ask from now on before they were given a razor to shave with.

Blood didn’t bother him one bit and the small amount she’d left was gone with a few wipes of a paper towel. It was seeing someone so small and frail sitting there doing it to herself… Seeing her out of her tough Team Skull uniform and just as a kid desperate to escape her misery… That hit way too close to home and bothered him.

His task over with, Guzma went back upstairs and settled back into bed. Once he started to calm down from the events his bladder reminded him of just why he’d gotten up in the first place.

“…Dammit…”

  
Later in the afternoon of the next day, Guzma found the Grunt and asked to speak to her in private. He stood there awkwardly while she waited patiently for him to decide exactly what he wanted to say to her.

“…Here…” Guzma held out three bracelets, two white and one black, to her. They were the same kind that he always wore.

She gave him a confused look.

“I… Read that people who… Y’know… Sometimes snap rubber bands or things like that on their arms when they feel like doing that and it helps. Thought that maybe…”

She smiled at him, tears in her eyes from how Guzma had been worried enough to still be thinking about her the next day. She gratefully accepted the bracelets, realizing they must really be stretchy if something this small to fit her thin wrist could expand enough to fit Guzma’s.

He said and did what he need to, so Guzma quickly made an exit without saying much more. She slipped on one of the white bracelets and pulled it out a ways before letting it go, it snapping back on her wrist with a small sting that quickly faded. It would indeed serve its purpose. After the outpouring of care and support she was shown last night instead of anger or disgust, she had a feeling that she’d acquired a bit of new strength to fight back any desire to self harm again for awhile.

 

**Author's Note:**

> One day on Tumblr I mentioned wanting to write something like this just for myself, not intending to share, but I got a surprising amount of people who said they wanted to read it. I guess more people than I thought who follow me struggle with this issue as well.
> 
> I don't really have anyone anymore who I can depend on to be willing to deal with me when I get bad, so it's fictional characters I rely on and dream up little fantasies of scenarios like this to help me. My choice was always a box cutter, though, but I would think razors are similar. 
> 
> If there's anything I didn't handle well, I am more than willing to change it. Just let me know.


End file.
